Keeping My Sister's Secrets

by Beezy Marsh

  ‘No problem,’ said the seamstress. ‘I will just put it in my book. Pay me back a shilling a week, all right?’

  Kathleen watched as her mother swallowed hard and opened her purse. She pulled out her last shilling. ‘Of course,’ she said.

  Kathleen looked down at her shoes. They were so pretty but her mum had given her last penny and then some, just so she would have a day to remember in the church. Should she say that she didn’t need them after all? Kathleen glanced up at her reflection. She did look just like a princess and the shoes completed the outfit, didn’t they? So much of their life was bought on the never-never, it was just the way things were.

  Her mother came over and took one last look at her.

  ‘Kathleen, you are just such a little beauty,’ she whispered.

  Kathleen knew then that it would be wrong to go without. It was her job to look pretty, to make everyone in the family proud and keep up appearances before everyone, even God.

  The seamstress bustled over, smiling, and helped her out of the dress, which was put back on its hanger until tomorrow. Kathleen would go to the shop and get dressed there, rather than risk the outfit being ruined at home. As they were leaving the shop, she spotted her friend Nancy and her mum making their way to the dressmaker’s. Kathleen gave her a little wave. ‘Just wait till tomorrow!’ she said, under her breath.

  Kathleen stood at the altar of St Peter’s Church, in front of the priest, bowed her head and pressed her palms together, as if she were praying. A line of girls and boys, including her brother Jim, snaked its way down the aisle behind her, right to the back of the church. The smell of incense filled the air and made her feel quite giddy.

  The Mass had lasted forever, so long, in fact, that her stomach had started to rumble. She’d spent ages studying all the beautiful pictures on the walls, the arches and the marble columns. All the gold everywhere made it look like a palace. Every pew was filled with people who had come to see their children take their first Holy Communion. She had been chosen to go up first to receive the sacrament, much to Nancy’s disgust. At the priest’s signal, she stepped forwards and held her hands together, palm up, in front of her, as she had been told to do. He placed a little round wafer into her hand and she popped it into her mouth. She paused for a second, waiting to see if she felt different now she was really Catholic but she didn’t have much time to contemplate before she heard Nancy whisper in her ear: ‘Move on, you’ve had your turn!’

  Kathleen would have said something back but it wouldn’t have been very Christian to do so, so she ignored her, just like the Lord Jesus would have wanted her to. Kathleen turned and smiled at her mum, Peggy and Nanny Day, who were there in the second row of pews, beaming back at her. Only her father was missing, as he couldn’t get time off from the factory. There hadn’t been enough room for Frankie and Eva to fit in as well, so they were outside with Old Uncle Dennis, mingling in a huge throng of people waiting for the procession for the Feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel to start.

  After the last of the children had taken the sacrament, the priest made his way to the front door of the church, where he released three doves, to the cheers of the crowd. There were so many people lining the steps and along the road on both sides that there was barely room to move.

  The girls, still wearing their veils, gathered in a little gaggle in the vaulted porch, waiting to see who would be given the honour of walking behind the priest. Kathleen looked up and was admiring the blue ceiling studded with gold stars when she felt a hand on her shoulder. The priest had picked her! She felt like the star of her very own show. There were a few murmurs of protest from some of the Italian mothers, not least of all Nancy’s, but they were soon silenced by the glares of Nanny Day and her mother, who said loudly: ‘She’s as much right as anybody. She’s Catholic, ain’t she?’

  Kathleen grinned from ear to ear as they set off up the narrow street, which was festooned with garlands of flowers running from one house to another, changing it from a grimy London street to a kind of paradise. Mothers held their babies up at open windows and cheered as she walked past. This corner of Clerkenwell lay less than a mile from Lambeth, across the water, and it was every bit as poor as her community but it was home to the Italian immigrants, who had made it their own, with their bars and shops. Some people were scared to go there, saying it was a den of thieves, but it held no fear for her or her family because they were all at school with the Italian kids and counted them as friends.

  She spotted Frankie on Uncle Dennis’s shoulders and returned his wave. The priest walked in front, swinging incense, and she walked immediately behind him, carrying a little posy of flowers. Behind her came the statue of Our Lady of Mount Carmel, carried aloft by six men. It was garlanded with roses in pink, yellow and cream, as well as some white lilies around the base. The combination of the scent of the flowers with the incense and the crowds made Kathleen feel she was walking on air.

  Behind the statue came the children, some carrying banners from their churches, and behind them were other statues of saints. They made their way up Back Hill and on to some big roads, where mounted police had stopped the traffic to allow them through. The cheering and waving and clapping seemed to go on forever, as everyone came out of their houses to see the spectacle. Eventually, they made their way back to the church where Mum and Nanny Day hugged her as she reunited with the rest of her brothers and sisters. ‘This is the best bit,’ said Jim. ‘Let’s go and eat.’

  They walked through Little Italy, down the warren of backstreets, where the most delicious smells of cooking were wafting through the air. Italian grannies, dressed all in black, had set out little stalls selling cakes, and sausages were sizzling in frying pans over open fires at the side of the road. Women were stirring big barrels of a thick porridge. Kathleen understood a few words of Italian from the girls at school but the women spoke so quickly that it took three goes to understand that they were offering her something called ‘polenta’. She was just about to try her luck at a little coconut shy when the red-faced bosomy figure of their neighbour Mrs Avens hove into view, pushing her way through the crowd.

  ‘It’s James,’ she said, grabbing their mother by the arm. ‘You need to come straight away. There’s been an accident at work.’

  The party atmosphere ended as quickly as if someone had burst a balloon. They caught the bus back across the river and ran the last hundred yards to home. To her horror, Kathleen realized that her little satin shoes were now stained black with dirt from the road. When they got to the house, their father lay in bed in the front room – which was something the kids had never seen before. He was always up early before they woke and was the last to get to bed at night. His right hand was bandaged and all the colour had drained from his face.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ was all he could say, when he saw them all. Tears were rolling down his cheeks.

  Mum rushed to him. ‘My God, what’s happened?’

  ‘My finger. It was the band saw at work. I lost my finger . . .’

  Kathleen ran to hug her father and he held her in his embrace. Looking down, she saw that blood had seeped through his bandages, staining her perfect white fairy-tale dress with flecks of crimson.

  7

  Eva, May 1933

  A gloom settled over the house in the week following her dad’s accident. He sat for hours, brooding, at the table in the scullery while her mother did her best to keep the family going, working all the hours that God sent and then probably a few more on top of that.

  The bloodied stump where he had cut his finger off became infected and he cursed as Nanny Day put iodine on it or prepared little baths of hot salty water to try to make it better. After a fortnight off, her father went up to the factory and came back in even worse spirits.

  ‘I can’t have my old job back,’ he told Mum. ‘There’s no work for me there now as I am. They needed my skills as a carpenter and I can’t manage at that with my finger gone.’

  Eva watched as her mother s
ank to her knees on the scullery floor and began to sob into her apron. ‘We’ll be out on the streets!’

  ‘I won’t let that happen,’ said Dad, putting his arm around her.

  Eva shut the front door quietly and walked to the corner shop on Belvedere Road. Her mind was made up. She’d done it once before to try to get Kathleen that piano but now her family really needed her.

  The little bell rang as she pushed open the door.

  The shopkeeper was half-deaf anyway, so he probably wouldn’t hear her but she shouted out, ‘Hello?’

  His greying thatch of hair appeared from around the back of the shop. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘Mum needs some candles,’ said Eva. ‘We’re running out again.’

  ‘I’ll have to go downstairs to the basement for them,’ said the shopkeeper. Eva was counting on that. As soon as she heard his footsteps creaking down the back stairs, she darted around to the till and yanked it open. There was no lock to stop her. Another ten-bob note would do, for now.

  She grabbed the money, slammed the till shut, praying that the little ‘ting’ it made wouldn’t be heard in the basement, and was back around the other side of the counter in a flash. ‘I’ve changed me mind!’ she yelled, making for the door and smacking straight into Mrs Davies, who was coming through it to get her daily update on the comings and goings in the neighbourhood.

  ‘Why are you in such a rush?’ she said, grabbing Eva by the arm.

  ‘None of your business!’ said Eva, breaking free and running off down the street. She tucked the money safely into the pocket of her pinafore and skipped around to Nanny Day’s. Eva knew she couldn’t just hand the cash over in front of her father, who would be bound to grill her about where she’d found it. She’d wait for a quiet moment later on and slip it into her mum’s grateful hand.

  Old Uncle Dennis was busy whittling away at bits of wood, making a toy cot for her and Kathleen when she got round there. Every few seconds or so, he would cough, the rattling cough which seemed as much a part of his personality as his smile.

  ‘How’s your dad?’ said Nanny Day, pouring Eva a cup of tea.

  Eva loved it that Nanny treated her a bit more like a grown-up.

  ‘He’s not going to work at the factory no more,’ said Eva quietly. She understood, even at her age, that this was disastrous news.

  ‘Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ said Nanny Day, sitting down and crossing herself. ‘Tell your mother I will come around later. We’ll have to see what can be done.’

  Eva was just about to badger Grandad for some of the bread he was toasting over the fire when there was a loud knock at the door.

  Eva heard Old Uncle Dennis say, ‘What on earth do you want with our Eva? She’s only a kid.’

  Nanny Day stood up, looked at her, grabbed her by the arm and motioned for her to get under her long skirts, which reached right to the floor. Eva crouched down into a little ball, hugging her knees, scrunched in between Nanny Day’s shiny little boots.

  ‘Well, Eamon,’ said Nanny Day. ‘This is a surprise. What brings you to my door?’

  ‘I’m looking for your Eva,’ came the reply. ‘I need to have a word with her about a very serious matter.’

  ‘Fine words for a policeman,’ said Nanny Day, with a laugh. ‘Are you PC O’Mahony now or can I still call you Eamon? She’s a young girl, not a criminal. How’s your mother keeping?’

  ‘Oh, she’s fine. Back troubling her but she’s all right,’ said the policeman.

  ‘It’s just I’ve not seen her in church lately,’ said Nanny Day, before he could say anything more. ‘And she always used to be such a regular attender. The priest mentioned it to me himself.’

  ‘Well, it can be difficult for her to get about . . .’

  ‘Much like our good Lord Jesus, struggling with the cross up to Calvary, I imagine.’

  He sighed. ‘I do need to see Eva to have a word. There’s some money going missing from shops around here and a few people have noticed she’s often about when it does. The kids in the street said she was here.’

  ‘Well now, Eamon, I can’t imagine for a minute that my Eva would be stealing anything, so you be careful about making those accusations. Particularly because I remember a certain little boy breaking windows in the school not so long ago and he was never caught, was he, Eamon?’

  ‘I see your point,’ he said. ‘But I won’t be able to turn a blind eye to it for much longer if it keeps happening.’

  ‘You’ve had your say. Dennis will see you out,’ said Nanny Day curtly. PC O’Mahony knew when he was beaten and left without saying another word.

  Once the front door had banged shut, Eva emerged from her hiding place. Nanny Day sat back down in her favourite rocking chair and looked at Eva.

  ‘Well?’ she said. ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’

  Eva looked at the floor and then back at Nanny Day. ‘I ain’t done nothing wrong,’ she said. ‘I swear on the life of our Lord Jesus. It’s people making up stories about me.’

  Nanny rocked back and forth for a moment and then she said, ‘Eva, people like us don’t have much and if we start coming by good fortune, questions will be asked, so you’d better have some pretty good answers ready. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone, as our good Lord said. I know there’s many round here shouldn’t be casting any stones, but the point is they will. Now, you’d better pray Eamon O’Mahony hasn’t been knocking on your door or your father will have your guts for garters. Go on home now and tell your mother I will be around later.’

  When Eva got back home, she was sent straight upstairs, as Mum was entertaining another altogether unexpected visitor: Mr Pemberton from the Poor Law. Kathleen and Peggy were huddled in the boys’ bedroom at the back, with their ears to the floorboards, straining to hear what was being said.

  ‘Well, you never can tell, Mrs Fraser, when bad luck will strike, and I was very sorry to hear about your husband’s accident, despite his behaviour towards me.’

  ‘It has come as a terrible blow to us all,’ came their mother’s reply. ‘I know what happened between you and James should never have happened but, believe me, it was in heat of the moment and he didn’t mean you any harm. He was just trying to help that poor girl Mary from down the road. And now he has been laid off from the factory, we will be needing to make a claim for temporary relief.’

  ‘I’m a reasonable man, Mrs Fraser,’ said Mr Pemberton. ‘I know you are a good, hard-working family and you have never been to the Poor Law before, but I will need full details of all your income and any savings and you know under the Means Test we are now very strict. I can see you keep a good house and with five children; it can’t be easy for you . . .’

  ‘I’m very grateful, Mr Pemberton.’

  ‘Does your husband know you have asked for assistance?’

  Her mother’s reply was almost a whisper, so quiet that Eva could barely hear it. ‘No. At least, not yet.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mr Pemberton. ‘Well, I can’t take matters further until he agrees to it.’

  The ten-shilling note was burning a hole in Eva’s pocket. She knew enough about her father’s pride to realize that there was no way he’d have Mr Pemberton under his roof, let alone accept assistance from the Poor Law. Her mother needed her help more than ever now. It didn’t matter that the cozzers were on to her; they’d have to catch her at it, and Eva was more determined than ever that this should not be the case.

  ‘I’m going out,’ she told Kathleen, heading back down the stairs and quietly lifting the latch on the front door.

  Eva had heard all about Liz English from some of the older boys in the street but she’d never actually met her. ‘Lumps and Bumps’ they called her, or ‘Lumps’ for short, because she was always falling down drunk or getting a clip around the ear from the law for making a nuisance of herself. But behind her boozy breath and blackened teeth lay a cunning mind when it came to getting rid of nicked stuff for a good price.

  Th
e Feathers pub up on the Waterloo Road was her usual haunt, at least until she got chucked out for pestering the punters for a drink too many. Darkness was falling as Eva made her way there. On cold nights, Lumps liked to warm her bottom in front of the fire, making quite a spectacle of herself, because she didn’t wear any knickers and would just lift her long skirts and do one cheek at a time. Tonight, in the dusk of a warm May evening, she was lolling about outside, bartering with some kids from the other side of the Cut about a case they had nicked from Waterloo Station. Her bleary eyes fixed on Eva.

  ‘What d’you want, then?’ she said, running her fingers through her bird’s-nest hair. ‘Not seen you around here before, have I?’

  ‘No,’ said Eva. ‘But I’m going to be one of your regulars from now on.’

  Lumps screeched with laughter and slapped one of the lads on the back, quite hard.

  ‘Are you, now? And what’s your speciality? Hoisting? Dipping?’

  ‘Tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you,’ said Eva. ‘But it’s got to be a good price for me or it ain’t worth my while.’

  Lumps seized her by the collar. ‘You ain’t one of them little spies sent by the cozzers, are you? ’Cos if you are, I’ll break your scrawny neck. I ain’t going back to Holloway.’

  Eva wriggled free. ‘No, of course I ain’t. I’m new to it, that’s all – but look, here’s what I lifted today and I can get more.’

  She produced her ten-shilling note and then snatched it away into her pocket again, before Lumps could lay a blackened finger on it.

  ‘Quite the thief, aren’t we?’ said Lumps and Bumps, smiling. ‘But keep doing that and you will bring the law to my door. Shopkeepers notice when their till takings are down a few quid. Cigarettes are nice and easy, though. There’s always a demand for them. We can sell them on cheap in the pubs. I will take half of what you get.’

  ‘That don’t sound very fair,’ said Eva.

  Lumps grabbed her again. She had a wild look in her eyes as she spoke and the stench of her breath was almost overpowering. ‘You don’t argue with me, see? You ain’t in no position to bargain with Old Liz. You want to get into my game, you play by my rules.’